


Honor Early On

by Bofur1



Series: Where Sickness Thrives... [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Caring Crime-Lords, Crimes & Criminals, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Leaving Home, Light Angst, Murderers, Past Character Death, R&R, Reflection, Sick Fic, Sick Nori, Something Made Them Do It, Surprises, Surrogacy, Traditions, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, first kill, lying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 21:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nori kills another person for the first time and feels utterly sick about it. He needs someone to take care of him, but he's underground and Dori's not there. Therefore, his late father's crime-lord friends swoop him up for "Processing Time"!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honor Early On

“Ye’re lookin’ a little pallid, boy.”

Nori looked up quickly and instantly regretted it as the sudden movement made his head whirl. “U-uh...I—I’m alright, Cellanar...”

Cellanar habitually tried to narrow his eyes, but since he was missing one the look was only half-successful. “Ye know, yer father Fori was a bit frayed at the beard too when he made his first kill. With a few nudges he began t’ enjoy himself though.”

Nori wasn’t sure if he’d wanted to know that last bit. He was certain that, if he looked in a mirror, his face would be somewhere between white and green. Cellanar noticed this called to the other Dwarves sitting nearby.

“Oi! You lot remember Blade-Driver’s first kill?”

A chorus of appreciative noises rose from them. “He puked afterward, though,” someone named Datli recalled with a snicker.

“Well, his young’un don’t look much better. Time fer Processing, yeh?”

Nori yelped, struggling slightly as Cellanar scooped him up and began walking with purpose somewhere that Nori prayed had some peace. His heart sank, however, when he saw that the rest of the Ring was following, eager smiles on their faces.

He found himself thumped down on a dusty armchair that had somehow found its way to the crime-lords’ tunnel operation and then a rough horse-hair blanket landed over his head. Feeling something sleek on his face, Nori quickly made to throw the blanket away, only to be stopped by Oreeve, one of the very few female crime-lords.

“No!” she said sharply. “The blanket’s a tradition.” Carefully she tucked it around Nori’s limp legs and then turned away.

Nori watched with growing unease as the crime-lords scuttled about, seemingly readying themselves—and him—for a familiar tradition. Datli approached with something behind his back.

“Pay attention, lad, and don’t worry—if you doze off while I’m talking, Tras can slice you round the ears to wake you.”

Oh yes, Nori was _very_ comforted by this thought.

“Alright. This is about you, and also about your father.” Datli announced. “You, you’re following in his footsteps and being given a very special honor early on.” Still keeping one hand behind his back, he gestured with the other toward the blanket. “You turn that over now and look real close.”

Nori obeyed and suddenly realized that the smooth fabric he’d felt when the blanket was on his head was tightly-sewn thread. Mouth falling open slightly in awe, he traced a finger over the names stitched into the blanket. One in a corner caught his eye.

“Recognize it?” Oreeve said over Nori’s shoulder, startling him.

“M-my adad,” Nori replied, his voice one of wonder. “How long ago was this?”

Cellanar frowned, considering. “A long, long time. He was th’ youngest out o’ all o’ us t’ reach this point, even younger than yerself, an’ that’s sayin’ somethin’.”

“Now it’s your turn,” Datli added, producing a small burnished box from behind his back. Nori took it carefully and when he unhooked the latch a well-polished needle and a spool were revealed.

“Ye get t’ put yer name an’ date on this here tapestry,” Cellanar declared, “an’ ye’ll officially be one o’ us.”

“It’s an important moment, lad,” Tras explained. “So try not to mess up your stitching. The last one who did that...well...the name of the Dwarf who killed him is right there.” He leaned over and pointed to the short, neatly stitched name. It was, of course, his own name, ‘ _Tras’_.

Feeling a bit jittery in the stomach, Nori threaded the needle with the silver thread on the spool and searched the blanket for a proper place. Eventually he gave in to a tug on his heart and began sewing.

“Ah, should’ve expected that,” Datli mused with a nod. Cellanar grinned widely, as did some of the others.

When he was finished Nori looked first at his father’s name and then at his immediately underneath. A small lump wormed its way up his throat. If only Dori were able to see this blanket. That was by far the best sewing job he’d ever done. Then he remembered that someone had died for this honor and he started to gag.

On top of the blanket was settled a battered iron platter with a flask in the exact center.

“Drink up, lad,” a lord named Ardofir said gravely. “Whoever that fellow was that you sliced—drink to his health in the Halls.”

Nori pursed his lips and nodded, taking the flask in trembling hands and lifting it quickly. “To his health in the Halls,” he echoed in a whisper. “And...I’m sorry.” He took a long swig to avoid answering questions immediately. At the raised eyebrows of the group, Nori swallowed and muttered with a half-smile, “For humiliatin’ him.”

This brought wry laughs and claps on Nori’s shoulders and back. Leaning back in the chair, Nori studied his father’s name, its silver thread glowing softly in the dim light.

“I drink to your health too,” he murmured. “And I hope you’re proud of me.” Then he tipped back the flask and drank, both his throat and his eyes burning for different reasons as it went down.

 

**Author's Note:**

> *For more on the crime-lords and Fori's affiliation with them, read:
> 
> 'Prize of the Dirty World' here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1147414/chapters/2324470
> 
> 'Hurkumalak--Armor of Hands' here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/808707/chapters/1526298


End file.
